The text came a long way, too, because I'm in Omaha right now and he's home in Scottsdale.

I have the best "meet the husband" story of all.

Roughly 16 years ago, I was thinking "I'm finally ready to settle down." I'm what you call a late bloomer.

Hmmmm, no tall, dark, and handsome's were in the vicinity, but I wasn't looking for tall, dark, and handsome anyway. I was looking for fun, easy to be with, and employed.

I met my husband because of a car.

My best friend is Cathy McDavid, who writes for Harlequin Western. I was going to spend the weekend with her family in Young, Arizona: a town so small there is no gas station.

As luck would have it, I had to work Saturday. Cathy's family left on Friday. She stays behind to ride with me (gave her uninterrupted writing time)

Practical me took my car to the gas station for maintenance on Friday so there'd be no chance of a break-down. Friday after work (8 p.m. I worked a lot back then. Maybe that's why I was single) I went to pick it up. When I tried to leave the gas station, the car went about three miles an hour.

Something was definitely wrong.

I head inside to the teenager - only one there - who wasn't the owner or a mechanic and said, "Why is my car not working?"

He wasn't much of a help. But, after an hour, he managed to get me a loaner car (a Cadillac that had push buttons before push buttons were on my radar). I didn't like it, but I drove it. I couldn't change the radio channel, either. I was stuck with classical. (I'm definitely a country girl).

Next day I'm teaching a Saturday class which ended at 11:30. At 9:00 the janitor opens the door and tells me a water line broke and I needed to dismiss. I knew him; didn't believe him; didn't dismiss. My boss called with the same story. I dismissed. Yeah! I can leave a little early. If only I can get my car.

My car wasn't ready. I sat in the hot sun for two hours (sweat, sweat, sweat. I'm in Arizona) Then, they gave me a different loaner car. An Oldsmobile. Green. Not my favorite color. I transfer luggage and laptop and head for Cathy's.

Four miles down the highway, the car starts smoking.

I pull off the highway onto a dirt area, step outside, close the door, and call the gas station. They will send a tow truck.

"Er, also send a spare key," I suggested. See, I didn't have push buttons or AUTOMATIC LOCK on my old car that had been running fine when I took it in the day before. When I stepped out of the Oldsmobile to make my call, I closed the door. It stayed closed. ARG

I have my purse and cell phone. Luggage and laptop are trapped inside ugly green Oldsmobile.

I walk to a McDonald's just up the street and wait for the tow truck.

TWO HOURS later...

Cathy decides she will drive us to Young.

She meets me and we wait for the tow truck so I can get my stuff.

Tow truck finally arrives. Driver had not been told about key and said he couldn't break in.

I pick up a big rock (if you know me, you should not be surprised) and say, "No problem. I'll break the window."

I could live without my clothes but not my laptop.

Tow truck driver decides to break into car.

So, I'm standing there, pulling the door handle trying to give him a little more room for the digging he's doing with some tool to unlock when.....

Tow truck slips out of gear, rolls back, hits my loaner, and sends it heading for the street.

Tow truck driver runs for tow truck. Cathy and I manage to stop the Oldsmobile (picture Cathy and I doing serious Batman maneuvers)

The tow truck driver asks me out afterwards. (And, the tow truck hitting the Oldsmobile opened the doors!)

Did I marry the tow truck driver?

Well, he called finalizing our first date during a Desert Dreams RWA meeting. My friend Patty Osback was sitting next to me. She listened to the conversation and said, "You're going out with a tow truck driver? You should go out with my brother-in-law too."

The tow truck driver turned out to be a flake. (I'd need a longer blog to tell you every detail, but here's two). He actually broke the first date. Then, the second date he called me and said, "I've been kicked out of my apartment. Will you pick me up at the motel where I'm staying."

Ah, no.

Plumber wasn't a flake, (happy sigh) and fifteen years later, we be three.

What I didn't know was that after fifteen years, I love him more than the day I married him. He's that much fun.

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